


ripped at every edge

by transboywriting



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: ALSO ronan is trans, Adam is a law student, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, also noah is alive and fucking well, also yeah there's gonna be a lot of swearing, and gay angst, because I said so, because once again i said so, but i'm leaving myself the option, but there's lots of pining, ronan is an art student because of course he would be, there's no official magic :/, there's probably not going to be anything too explicit, these tags are a mess i'm so fucking sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transboywriting/pseuds/transboywriting
Summary: This is how every class goes—half-heartedly listen to Logan and take haphazard notes, scribble Parrish’s hands and neck and jaw and shoulders in the margins of his notebook, and stare at him the rest of the time.He’s barely spoken to him. He doesn’t even know if he’s queer.But that doesn’t stop Ronan from dreaming.
Relationships: Henry Cheng/Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 11
Kudos: 108





	1. i'm still dreaming about your hands

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written any fanfic in years but this idea hit me late last night and now here i am. this is the first time i've had motivation in months and i definitely plan on finishing because honestly it's what we all deserve. also special thanks to alex for proofreading for me. <3
> 
> the chapter title is from "dream" by mountain bird, which is the most absurdly pynch song i've ever heard everyone please listen to it

The first thing Ronan noticed were his hands.  


It’s hard not to. Their professor is surprisingly casual and never requires his students to raise their hands. But Parrish always does, and Ronan always notices. The only word he can think of for them is _elegant_. Long and slender with fine bones, tiny white scars, unevenly rounded nails, tendons just noticeable under his freckled skin.  


Ronan wonders where else he has freckles.  


He’s tried to draw Parrish’s hands countless times but can never get it quite right. He’s always in the front of the classroom, and Ronan is always in the back. So he steals what quick glances he can and satisfies himself with endless doodles on the edges of his Latin worksheets. If their teacher recognizes them, he hasn’t said anything.  


He knows he should be listening to the professor, but instead he’s watching the back of Parrish’s head. His hair’s been cut recently, golden brown trimmed short against golden tan skin. Ronan wants to touch it, to let his hands follow the trail of gold under that stupid sweater.  


“Fuck,” he whispers, looking back down at his textbook. He doesn’t care that he’s barely paying attention; in high school his best grades were in Latin. Really, it was the only class he’d enjoyed. He’s only taking it now because he needs a language credit. If he _has_ to be here, he’s going to make it as easy as god damn possible.  


Ronan fills in the next answer on his worksheet without even listening to Professor Logan. They’re still early in the semester, but he already knows half of this shit. Which is nice, because it means he can stare at Parrish as much as he wants without failing.  


So he does.  


This is how every class goes—half-heartedly listen to Logan and take haphazard notes, scribble Parrish’s hands and neck and jaw and shoulders in the margins of his notebook, and stare at him the rest of the time.  


He’s barely spoken to him. He doesn’t even know if he’s queer.  


But that doesn’t stop Ronan from dreaming.  


Latin is the only class that Ronan wishes would be longer. Even his art classes feel like they drag most days. But he never feels like he has enough time to stare. He’s packing up but he manages to keep one eye on Parrish, like he always does.  


But this time, Parrish notices. He looks back as he swings that pretentious crossbody bag over his shoulder and locks eyes with Ronan.  


A jolt goes through his body but he doesn’t look away. He’s always been good at holding too much intensity in his eyes. He knows just how long to stare at someone to make them uncomfortable, just how to raise one eyebrow in a silent challenge.  


But Parrish stares right back. His expression is unreadable, his mouth an even line. Ronan’s hands freeze on the zipper of his backpack, insides squirming.  


He looks away, unsure if he just won or lost.

— — —

Latin is his last class today, but he doesn’t want to go home yet. When he, Gansey, and Henry had planned to room together, none of them had known that Gansey and Henry would be getting the same girlfriend, or that they’d start dating each other as well. Instead of the three of them, Ronan-Gansey-Henry, it was Gansey-Henry-Blue and Ronan. Instead of some raucous bachelor pad with movie marathons and game nights and endless beers and separate rooms so they could bring dates home in private, there was a room for Gansey-Henry-and-most-nights-Blue, and one for Ronan.  


He couldn’t be mad. They were happy. He just didn’t like feeling like a third wheel, an afterthought, a side character. And it made the lonely ache of missing the Barns even sharper.  


Which is why he’s staying on campus for now, in one of the open grassy courtyards. The warmth of the sun on his all-black outfit cancels out the chill of the early autumn air. He’s got his back against a bench, art supplies spread around him, sketching furiously at a project he’s been putting off for too long.  


That’s where Gansey finds him, head bowed low, eyes squinted at the page in front of him. He crouches, starting to offer his hand for their stupid handshake. Then he notices the charcoal all over Ronan’s hands and clasps his shoulder instead.  


“What’s up, Dick?” Ronan asks with more venom than needed.  


Gansey apparently doesn’t find his tone or nickname worth commenting on. He says, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”  


“What do you want?” he asks, setting aside his notebooks and grabbing a rag to wipe off his blackened hands.  


“Well. Ah. The inclusion center has an LGBTQ+ group, and they’re having a get together of sorts this week.”  


“So?” Ronan hand picks the people he spends time with. He doesn’t want to go to any stupid group, no matter how much he might have in common with the people there.  


Gansey’s voice has dropped, softened, as if he’s anticipating an outburst. “Henry and Blue and I are considering going. But we’d all feel better if we knew someone else there.”  


He lets Ronan connect the pieces himself. Ronan’s not stupid. He knows they want him there. And he’s not stupid enough to think that Gansey couldn’t waltz right into that group with his boyfriend and his girlfriend and charm everyone there all on his own without a hint of anxiety.  


They’re just trying to get him more friends, and he doesn’t know if he should be offended or grateful.  


Definitely offended.  


“The fuck are they even doing at this “get together of sorts”?” He snaps, dropping his charcoals back into their pouch. There’s no way he’s getting any more work done after this.  


“Pizza and a movie,” Gansey says, a stupid crease between his stupidly perfect eyebrows. He can tell he pissed Ronan off.  


_Good._  


“Why can’t we just do that at home? I doubt they’ll have beers, and they won’t be as forgiving when you talk the whole damn time.” He snaps his sketchbook shut and shoves it into his backpack with all his other shit.  


“ _Lynch._ ” Gansey says it like a command, and it works. Ronan stops his furious packing and looks up at his best friend. “This...this relationship with Henry and Blue and I, it’s different. It’s new. We just thought it would be nice to talk to other people like us. And I thought you’d feel the same.”  


Gansey stands, brushing nonexistent dirt from the knees of his stupidly perfect khakis, and walks away.  


Ronan stays on the grass for a long time, breathing slowly, his ribs aching with the far off memory of binders. Once, he would have accepted Gansey’s offer without a second thought. Now, he needs time to think.  


And he thinks best at 80 miles an hour, windows down and music blaring.


	2. drive it like you stole it

If Ronan had his way, he wouldn’t be here. All he’d ever wanted was to take care of the Barns, create art like the kind his dad sold, and get on hormones. But then he found his father in a pool of his own blood on the driveway and everything fell apart. 

Niall Lynch’s will was clear. His children had to graduate college to get their share of the money. Everything would be paid for, but if they wanted anything beyond that, they had to graduate. For Declan and Matthew, that was no problem. College was already on Delcan’s million-step plan for his life, and Matthew was infuriatingly willing to go along with anything. 

There was nothing Ronan wanted less. He could learn how to draw better without going to classes. He could keep up on Latin without going to classes. He could be perfectly happy without ever setting a foot on a college campus. 

But there was no way around the will, and Ronan was devestatingly loyal to his father, even in death. 

So he and Gansey and Henry applied to all the same colleges, and got into the same colleges, and picked the one closest to home. Despite their families’ pleading, they drove up themselves, in their own cars, and only Ronan had looked back. 

If he couldn’t have his family or his home, he could have his car. Well, his father’s car. That was the one thing Niall Lynch had allowed Ronan to have before college—a fact Declan protested until everyone pointed out that Ronan was the only one of them who would drive it anyway. It’s the closest to home he feels anymore. He kept his father’s favorite air freshener in the glove box, letting the familiar scent mingle with gasoline until the smell is altogether Ronan—comfort mixed with excitement. Unlike Gansey, he lets his friends drive it, so as he speeds down the highway, the faintest trace of mint hovers in the air. 

He has his music turned up to a level that would make even Henry wince, the car pulsing along with the bass. Ronan shifts gears, pedal to the floor, and the car surges forward. The moment of sunlight from earlier is gone, replaced by rain pelting the windshield and misting his face through his open window. Is it a good idea to be going this fast in the rain? Absolutely not. But that never stopped him before. 

This is when he feels the most in control—speeding down a wet road, surrounded by two tons of metal and rubber and plastic that could kill him at the slightest mistake. 

None of his friends understand it. Gansey’s Pig is a disaster of a car and he adores it, but he’s never loved driving the way Ronan does. He loves it like a wound not yet scabbed over, like a prodded bruise, like the moment before impact. The only thing Ronan loves more than safety is danger, and the only thing he hates more than danger is safety. 

He thinks, as he swerves past some stupid motherfucker going the speed limit, that he’ll never really be happy. 

By the time he goes back to the apartment, there’s no hint of sun behind the clouds. He had to roll up the window earlier and the second he steps outside, he’s soaked. Ronan takes a moment to just feel it all—the droplets sliding down his cheekbones, the leftover buzz in his body, the hood of the car warm under his palm—before grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat. He has to run inside to protect his papers, but he doesn’t mind too much. He feels better now. 

Both the boys are home, Gansey watching some history documentary (Ronan genuinely can’t tell if it’s for homework or for fun) and Henry at the kitchen table with his headphones on, staring down at his textbook in defeat. Neither of them exactly look up when he enters the room, but he can tell they notice him. 

Ronan throws his backpack on the couch then shuffles around in the fridge for a few minutes. He retrieves a lidless container of leftover noodles then shouts “Fine, I’ll go to your stupid party thing.” 

It’s not a very loud shout, really, but Gansey pauses his movie and Henry pulls his headphones around his neck and they both look at him. 

“Stop it,” he says, grabbing a fork and taking a bite without even warming it up. When was the last time he ate? “Don’t make this a big fucking thing. I’m just going because you’re too scared to go alone.” 

That is not entirely the truth. Ronan Niall Lynch was very good at keeping secrets, even from himself. If he did not say it, if he did not think it, then he didn’t have to hope. He didn’t like hoping. 

“But no more asking me on dates after this, got it? I fucking hate fourth-wheel for you, and I don’t like girls so I can’t exactly join in. And you both owe me big time.” 

Gansey looks like he’s trying not to smile. Henry looks like he’s had his head up calc’s ass for so long he can’t process English yet. Damn, but Ronan loves his boys. 

Gansey says, “Thanks, Lynch.” 

Ronan says, “Fuck off,” and continues shoveling pasta into his mouth. “Is that shit for school or because you’re a nerd?” 

Gansey looks genuinely offended, but later, he smiles when Ronan drops on the couch next to him with the Latin homework he hasn’t finished yet. There’s other assignments he should be doing, harder ones he’s been putting off for too long, but he’s in a good mood and doesn’t plan on fucking that up. 

The narrator is saying something about old Welsh kings when Gansey speaks up. 

“You’re drawing him again.” 

Ronan looks up wordlessly, eyes sharp. He has, in fact, actually been doing the worksheet. Not drawing The edges are just covered with messy doodles of Parrish, a silent confession. 

“Have you even talked to him, man?” Gansey sighs. 

“He’s in my line of sight every time I look up at the teacher, and he’s a hell of a lot more interesting to draw than Logan. Much better bone structure. I draw randos all the time. It’s not like this is new for me.” 

It’s not. If Ronan were a liar, he’d say Parrish was just someone he dreamt, his ideal type. But Ronan was not a liar. He was just very good at telling half truths and keeping secrets. 

“Whatever you say.” 

Ronan does not dignify him with a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is nine days too long to wait for a new chapter? or is it quick? i know nothing i'm just vibing over here. once again, thank you to alex for proofreading <3
> 
> this week's chapter title is the name of a song from glitch mob's 2010 album drink the sea. i used to be really into edm when i was like 15/16 so writing from the pov of ronan (who canonically enjoys this kind of music, remember?) has me pulling out all of my old faves and i gotta say, sophmore year me had some good taste.


	3. if i move my glance to his eyes, i'll get lost

Gansey makes them show up on time, of course. If it were up to Ronan, he’d put it off and put it off until long after the event started and they were watching a movie, right, he’d just bother everyone and distract them from the movie if he showed up now. But he’s going with Gansey-Henry-Blue, so he’s tugging on his boots and pulling his jacket over his shoulders 20 minutes before the event starts and piling into The Pig with them. Ronan sits in the back with his arms folded tight across his chest and stamps down the spark of guilt that flares when Gansey’s apologetic eyes meet his in the rearview mirror. 

“If you wanted someone to come with you, why didn’t you ask Noah?” 

Blue twists her whole body around to look back at Ronan. “He’s working. He already goes most Thursdays when he’s not.” 

Right. There’s not a cishet person among them, but Ronan’s the only one who doesn’t want to go to this _get together of sorts_. He doesn’t bother responding to Blue, just leans back in his seat and stares out the window. 

There’s only a few people there when they arrive at the classroom that’s been set aside for gay movie night—someone with a bright purple buzzcut that’s just starting to grow out, a delicate boy with fishnet gloves, an older butch woman with long hair who’s probably head of the inclusion center. They all look up and smile brightly when the four of them arrive—Gansey with his boat shoes but insufferably patterned button down, Henry with their lipstick and Madonna t-shirt, Blue with their three shredded dresses over hand-embroidered leggings, all three of them wearing pronoun pins, and last of all Ronan in the back, all sharp edges and masculine fury. 

It’s no surprise they greet Gansey-Henry-Blue first. They look like they belong here; Ronan doesn’t. He answers when the people setting up ask his name and pronouns and doesn’t hear what they tell him in response. He helps them set up chairs because Gansey glares at him about it, but as soon as people start to trickle in he goes to the corner furthest from the door and broods ominously. Ronan scrolls mindlessly through his phone, and he plans to stay there until one of his friends drags him into a seat for the movie. 

But then he hears a very startled _“Oh!"_ from Blue and looks up to see— 

He sees— 

“Hi, Blue,” Parrish says, his face blank with shock. 

Parrish is—Parrish is here, in a dark navy t-shirt tucked into perfectly ironed khakis, and there’s a goddamn _silver chain_ around his neck, and Ronan is about to lose his goddamn motherfucking mind. 

Gansey steps over, with his brilliant smile and his perfect hair, and the way Adam eyes him makes Ronan want to strangle his best friend for the first time in his life. 

“Who’s this?” He asks, all politician’s son right now. Ronan was right. They’d never needed his help. 

Blue clears their throat, face twisted in an awkward blush. “Um, this is Adam, my—my ex. Adam, this is Gansey, my boyfriend—one of my boyfriends. Henry’s the other one, over there.” 

They lift a hand to point him out, and at first Parrish’s startlingly blue eyes slide right over Ronan. But then they snap back to him, and for the second time in one week Ronan finds himself in a staring match with Parrish. His knees are just as weak this time, but now the hope he hasn’t let himself acknowledge has crystallized in his mind. 

_What if Parrish is at the movie night. What if Parrish likes boys._

This time, it’s Parrish who looks away first, because Gansey’s holding out a hand to shake and Henry is wandering over to see who’s got his partners so occupied, but his eyes keep going back to Ronan, like a challenge, like a promise. 

Eventually he escapes Gansey-Henry-Blue and makes his way to Ronan. He tries to look indifferent but he has the feeling the facade is incomplete. 

“Lynch, right?” He says. His voice is even, calm, but suddenly Ronan wonders _if he grew up with Blue, does he have an accent, and if he does, why is he hiding it?_ “Ronan?” 

“And you’re Adam Parrish,” he says by way of an answer. “Blue’s ex, apparently.” 

Parrish’s cheeks go the slightest touch of pink, making his freckles stand out even more than they normally do against gold. “Ah, yes. We lived in the same town. Dated a few months in high school. You—you know them?” 

Ronan chews on his bracelets for a moment before answering. Parrish’s Adam’s apple bobs nervously. “They’re dating my best friends. Gansey and Henry. They all dragged me here.” 

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Parrish’s expression goes slack and conventionally polite, and Ronan wishes desperately he could take back whatever he said. 

“You don’t want to be here?” 

Ronan barks out a short, cruel laugh. “No. Not my scene.” 

He’s only making it worse. Parrish stands up straighter, takes a tiny step back, and only then does Ronan notice how close he’d been standing. 

“Well, then why’d they bring you?” He asks with the same detached disinterest he uses when he’s asking Professor Logan about a past participle. 

Ronan considers bending the truth. He finds he’s so desperate for the Parrish of a few minutes ago he doesn’t have room to be clever. “They want me to make friends.” 

“Then why bring you to a group you have nothing in common with?” 

Parrish would make an excellent lawyer. His even voice and calculating eyes are making Ronan squirm—and not in a good way. He mulls over his question for a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s asking, then it clicks into place and he laughs again. 

“Dude, I’m not straight. I have something in common with pretty much everyone here.” 

Parrish says, “Oh.” Then again, but with understanding, _”Oh.”_

“And yeah, it’s an important part of my life or whatever, but that’s not the only thing there is to know about me. I don’t want someone trying to be my friend just because we swing the same way. I need more than that.” The words spill from him, embarrassing in their truthful eagerness. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Parrish says carefully, cautiously. 

Both of them jump as the main light turns off; they turn to see nearly everyone in the chairs already. In the light of the tv screen, Ronan sees purple buzzcut putting a dvd in the player and two empty seats near Gansey-Henry-Blue. 

“Guess they’re waiting for us,” Ronan says. He doesn’t sound at all like his insides are twisting into something he’s scared to name. 

“We should sit, then.” 

Parrish takes the seat next to Blue and Ronan takes the seat next to Gansey and for the next two hours, they very carefully do not look at each other. This was for the best, wasn’t it? Getting involved with your best friend’s partner’s high school boyfriend was a terrible idea, wasn’t it? 

Every time Ronan makes up his mind that this the end of his stupid infatuation with Parrish, the light of the tv glints off his narrow jaw or his delicate cheekbones or the necklace around his throat and— _Fuck._ Even out of the corner of Ronan’s eye it’s killing him; how the fuckshit ishe supposed to concentrate in Latin now? Now that they’ve actually talked and he knows Parrish is maybe—probably interested in boys? 

When the movie finally ends he’s decided that Parrish will simply be a nearby but untouchable thing. He can keep his distance. He doesn’t do casual and Parrish is the kind of man with ambitions that’ll carry him far from a farm in the Virginia countryside. He’ll be fine. 

Then Gansey’s insisting on getting Adam’s number; Ronan watches with rapt disinterest as phones are passed around his friends until he feels a buzz in his pocket as he’s added to yet another group chat he’ll ignore. But it’s all of them—Ronan, Gansey-Henry-Blue, Noah who apparently knows Parrish from high school too, and Parrish himself, polite and reticent. 

He’s about to shove his phone back in his pocket and storm off to their dorm by himself when he gets a new text that’s not from the group chat. 

> _Hi, it’s Parrish._

Ronan is so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you thought i forgot about this, huh?
> 
> that's because i did. oops.
> 
> so yeah. this chapter has been a long time coming but i hope you all like it! our boys have finally met and now they get to awkwardly flirt with each other! and yes noah is alive he'll be here later.
> 
> this chapter's title is from the song _palms_ by deza because it just fits them so well. and as always, thanks to alex for proofreading this for me. <3


End file.
